


Red

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mind Meld, Oral Sex, Pon Farr, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock and Chekov are trapped in a shuttle when pon farr strikes, unfortunately or fortunately for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leadup

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Warnings for later chapters. Which will mostly be porn. This is just the setup.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The rations in the shuttle are disgusting, but there isn’t any other option. The shuttle doesn’t have food synthesizers, and they’re certainly not opening the doors. Pavel can still hear the screams in his head from Lieutenant Terrance and Ensign Renxia as the cloud of orange dust encircled them. It’s horrifying; it’s haunting. Pavel’s still not sure how he and Commander Spock managed to get out of it alive. A fistful of the alien chemical made it into his lungs, and Spock practically coughed up an organ yesterday. (Seeing that was worse, but Spock’s the rock that kept him sure they weren’t _doomed._ )

Today, they’re not leaving the shuttle for anything. Communications are down and power’s low, but life support should hold until the Enterprise returns in a week. The rendezvous was scheduled back before the seemingly harmless planet turned out to be an infected wasteland, and suddenly the planet’s natural magnesite reserves don’t seem nearly as research-worthy as before. ...And he was so, so excited at first to come down and look... _with Mr. Spock, of all people_...

For the first few hours, Pavel watched in awe as Spock practically took apart the computer, attempting to patch through for subspace signals. It didn’t work, but it was still fascinating to see. For someone as mathematically inclined as Pavel, it’s hard not to be in awe of someone so wildly intelligent. He looked beautiful in the lulled shuttle light, bent over the beeping console.

Now, Pavel’s sitting up in the front. Spock isn’t working on the computer anymore, and Pavel isn’t about to try—he’s smart enough to know that if Spock can’t fix it, he can’t. He’s staring out the windows, because somehow, he keeps hoping the dust storm will disperse and it’ll be safe to leave. Mainly because it’s boring in here. And a little because he knows he’ll feel foolish returning to the captain with such little data. He chokes down the last of the protein bar and leans forward on the console. Even if the chemicals in the atmosphere leave, it’ll be too risky to go outside. But he can still daydream about different circumstances. 

A sharp clatter rings through the shuttle, and Pavel’s bolt upright in seconds. The shuttlecraft’s small—just six seats, three rows of two, a back compartment and nothing else. Spock’s standing in the corner, a metal box at his feet, packaged rations everywhere. He’s got his back to Pavel, broad shoulders tense. 

“Commander? Are you alright?”

Spock grunts in an oddly strained voice, “I am fine.”

Pavel slips out of the seat and walks over to help put the rations back into the box. His fingers brush Spock’s once, and he quickly withdraws them, cheeks a little pink. Then he looks up at Spock for some suggestion of what to do with his time—an ensign awaiting orders from a superior officer he more than admires. Spock offers nothing, so Pavel disappointedly goes back to staring vaguely out the window.

* * *

Sleeping is an awkward affair. There are no blankets, nothing like a bed, and the floor is hard. Spock is again towards the back, on his side, facing away from Pavel, but it’s hard to see through the darkness they throw the shuttle into. Lights are a drain on power anyway. It’s night outside, but the storm’s still going. 

Pavel’s curled up in the front seat, listening to the howl of the wind. It’s uncomfortable. He keeps adjusting. Once, his sleepy, bored head stupidly thinks of wandering over to Spock and curling up next to him. Spock’s probably warm and comfortable. Handsome and comforting. Maybe Pavel could use his strong shoulder for a pillow and nuzzle into his chest. Maybe Spock would stroke Pavel’s curls and pull him close, away from the raging storm outside.

More likely, Spock would send him away and write up a report for when the Enterprise returns, and Pavel would be kicked off the bridge and demoted for being either inappropriate or ‘illogical.’ He probably shouldn’t daydream so much. They don’t often end well. 

He takes off his yellow top shirt and bunches it up like a pillow, but then he’s slightly cold _and_ still uncomfortable. Seven days away. That’s not so bad; it’s bearable. 

There’s something out there that Pavel doesn’t recognize; a shaky figure through the darkness and hazy, like a giant wolf or a bear. Some alien predator, and he’s sure he sees the glint of giant fangs. But the window’s a little dirty, and it’s hard to tell. He tries to keep his eyes closed, but it’s hard. 

It’s shameful to be a Starfleet officer and be afraid of shadows in the night. He swore to the captain he could handle this mission. He’d work hard, learn a lot. He’d be of service to Spock. 

Instead he’s tired and lonely and bored and scared. 

So he gets out of his chair and heads for one of the ones at the back, behind Spock. He curls up again in the side of it, trapping his balled up shirt between the seat and his head, watching the back of Spock’s head for a few minutes before shutting his eyes. Could a Vulcan take down an alien bear? Would he? 

Pavel tries to sleep but spends more time shivering.

* * *

In the morning, there’s a blue shirt over him. Spock’s sitting in the left front seat, down to his black undershirt, the thin material stretched tightly against his taut muscles and tensed shoulder blades. Pavel blinks drearily and snuggles under the shirt that’s become his makeshift blanket. It smells like Spock. Spock thought of him. His cheeks are pink again. He calls softly, “Zhank you.”

Spock looks over his shoulder. His gorgeous eyes are darker than usual. He just nods. 

Of all the people to get stuck in a shuttle with, Pavel gets the one who won’t talk to him. (And who he’d very much _love_ to talk with—there’d be so much to learn from someone so accomplished. How did Spock come up with the Kobayashi Maru? What are his thoughts on Scotty’s transwarp beaming calculations? Does he have any particular thoughts on the magnesite deposits?) But he doesn’t want to be a nuisance or overstep his place, so he forces himself as quiet as his companion. He assumes if there were any news—hails from the Enterprise or signs of better conditions outside—Spock would tell him. 

He drops his head to his knees and dozes back off.

* * *

Spock isn’t fine. 

They’re eating rations when he springs to his feet, abruptly pacing the length of the shuttle with an aggressive step, with uncharacteristically loud footsteps and fists tight behind his back. He’s breathing harder than usual. His eyes look different. His hair isn’t as neat as it would be if they were on the Enterprise, and it’s lost some of its shine. 

At one point, he looks at Pavel and _growls_. Pavel gulps and asks hesitantly, “Commander?”

Spock just keeps staring at him. On any other occasion, Pavel would love that. Be honoured. Feel special. Eagerly hope something’s about to happen. But Spock doesn’t look right.

Then Spock walks to the back of the ship and kicks the wall hard enough to slightly dent the metal. Pavel physically jumps in his seat. Their medkit was with Ensign Renxia. They should’ve brought Dr. McCoy down. Pavel doesn’t know what’s wrong, but something is. He doesn’t know what he can do about it. 

He crosses the ship anyway and puts his hand on Spock’s shoulder. There isn’t any plan, just an innate need to be there for his crewmate.

Spock whirls around and grabs his wrist hard enough to bruise, and Pavel gasps in pain. Spock holds him there, watching him like a wild animal, so very _not Spock._ Eyes blazing. It’s scary as hell. 

“C-commander, you’re... you’re hurting me...”

After another very intense second, Spock seems to struggle with himself, and he lets go. Pavel steps back, cradling his wrist. Spock is practically panting. He looks away and stalks to the front of the ship, hissing, “Stay away from me.” A knot twists in Pavel’s stomach.

Spock doesn’t _hiss._

So Pavel listens.

* * *

Pavel’s still keeping his distance in the morning. He’s at the back of the ship, Spock in the front. Pavel gave the blue shirt back, but he woke up with it again, and he clings to it as he watches Spock. Spock’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed. For a moment, he looks serene again. Meditating. Pavel gets that moment to really _look at him_. He’s a little thin, but he’s toned too, muscled and full of strength. Handsome and solid. He looks particularly magnificent with the light streaming in through the windows, haloing his silhouette. Pavel’s face grows hot from staring, but he doesn’t look away. 

Then Pavel gets a sudden cramp in his leg. He pushes out of the chair as quietly as possible, but he isn’t surprised that Spock looks up. Pavel hides his blushing face by turning and walking to the wall, sitting down against it, and looking aside. The lights in the shuttle are still off, but the sunlight still reaches him. 

Spock stands up and walks to the ration packs in the side, pulling out a bottle of water. Pavel’s heart is beating too fast. A part of him wants Spock to come over to him, but another part is full of trepidation; he doesn’t know how to handle Spock right now. Spock takes the water bottle to Pavel and holds it out, and Pavel takes it while Spock settles down next to him. They’re close enough that their shoulders are almost brushing. 

“We need to talk,” Spock says. His voice is better than yesterday, but it still isn’t as flat as usual. “It is unlikely the Enterprise will arrive in time. I will do all I can to remedy the situation, but we must be prepared for the likelihood that I will not manage.”

“Zhe situation?” Pavel repeats, closing the bottle again and passing it back. Spock takes it and places it down. He isn’t quite looking at Pavel. Whatever he needs to talk about, it’s clear that Spock doesn’t want to. (But they’re talking, finally _talking_ , and Pavel’s silently ecstatic about it.)

“It is... not something Vulcans discuss. I will have to now out of necessity, but only what I must.” Pavel wasn’t aware there were things the Vulcans didn’t discuss. It seems strange for such a pragmatic people to keep secrets, but then, Pavel’s background is in physics and stellar cartography, not cultural issues. He nods along. “I believe the chemicals on the planet have reacted in my body so as to trigger a neurological imbalance known as _pon farr._ ”

“ _Pon farr,_ ” Pavel repeats. “...I hawe newer heard of it.”

“You will not have,” Spock replies curtly. “As I stated, we do not discuss it.”

Except that he is. Pavel sits quietly, then goes for more water. He takes another sip, closes the bottle, and puts it back down. That’s when he notices that Spock’s long fingers, usually so elegant and skillful, are in fists, trembling slightly. “Commander...”

“It will plunge me into madness,” Spock continues suddenly. “I will not be myself. I will become violent, destructive, and most likely cause you either grave injury or take your life, something which I would very much like to ensure could not happen. There is no way to know how this chemical may or may not change the process of _pon farr,_ but a typical cycle continues for eight days, wherein my own life will end if certain conditions are not met.”

Pavel’s... speechless. This isn’t at all how he wanted to talk. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Another attempt, and he manages, “You... you’ll die?”

“If conditions are not met. There is a ritual a Vulcan may engage in to end it, but it too results in the death of one party, and I believe we would be unable to duplicate the conditions in this shuttle, regardless. Another remedy is intensive meditation, which is a far rarer solution that is difficult to master and does not have a particularly high success rate. I have been attempting to stem the condition with meditation, but my progress is not substantial enough for me to believe you are not in danger. As your superior officer, it is my duty to think of your safety.”

Pavel’s eyebrows knit together. His safety? Spock’s the one who’s going to die in eight days, apparently. Or less, if it’s already started. He heard the rest, but... “Are zhose zhe only options?”

“There is a third,” Spock says, “but it is not ideal.” None of this is ideal. When Pavel doesn’t say anything, Spock adds in an oddly begrudging tone, “The third option is to take a mate.”

Pavel’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. 

“As I said, it is not ideal.”

Pavel’s throat is dry again. It’s better than the alternative. It’s... _mate with Spock._ Pavel’s heart is suddenly beating too fast, loud in his ears and colouring his cheeks. He barely misses a beat before he tries to ask, “But it is better zhan you dying—what does it entail? A ceremony? A—”

It’s so, so _strange_ to hear Spock’s voice twisted with emotion, shaking with a distinct lack of control. It’s odd and unnerving, and mildly terrifying. But he cuts Pavel off, snarling, “It is a physical copulation far more intense than any human’s bonding might be, and there is no option in this shuttle other than yourself, which would be unconscionable. It would be a terrible crime to defile an innocent. I will not force myself upon a human child.” When Spock stops talking, he’s breathing very hard again. Pavel wants to say he isn’t a child, but he’s too busy shrinking back. Forcing his voice calmer, Spock adds, “I will continue to attempt meditation. If my condition has not shown recessive signs by tomorrow by the time you awaken, I will have no choice but to lock myself outside of the shuttle in order to assure your safety.”

“But zhen you will—”

“That’s an order, Ensign!” Spock jumps to his feet as he shouts, towering over Pavel like a monster in a fairy tail. Pavel shuts up instantly. 

Pavel breathes, “Yes, sir.”

Spock nods and cross the shuttle again.

* * *

Things are technically just as boring, but now Pavel has a lot to think about.

He was so _excited_ to be on an away mission like this, on a completely new world, discovering all sorts of things. And he was going to go with the first officer too. The undeniably attractive, ingenious first officer. He’d felt so important.

Now he has hardly any data at all, he didn’t really learn anything, and he might be the only person to survive this mission. Pavel’s a natural optimist, but right now, things are undeniably depressing. 

He tries to pass the time looking out the windows and squinting for signs of life, but instead he mostly stares at Spock, meditating in the center of the shuttle. His lashes are against his cheek, perfect hair in slight disarray, high cheekbones hard and tense. His square jaw is fixed firmly shut. His curved lips are about as far from smiling as possible, but then, Pavel’s not sure he’s ever seen Spock _smile._

He’s seen a lot of Spock lately, and the more he looks, the more he likes what he sees. He liked it to begin with. That’s not a fact he’s proud of. But despite what everyone seems to think, he is a man, not a boy. And men have urges. Humans have feelings. Spock’s about as good looking as they come. It’s impossible to be trapped in a shuttle with him for so long and _not_ notice his beauty. 

The way his long, powerful fingers so skillfully form different symbols, carrying out foreign traditions. The way his broad shoulders rise ever so slightly with his breath, deeper and deeper as the hours pass. The way his pupils dilate when he isn’t meditating, the way his arched eyebrows will furrow together to create an impossibly domineering presence, even more commanding than usual. The way a hint of stubble begins to grow on his chin in the absence of a razor. The way his musk builds in the lack of more than cursory showers. The way he holds himself when he walks, perfectly drawn up and tall, boasting both power and aptitude. The way his eyes flicker over the consoles like it’s a simple piece in a child’s jigsaw puzzle. For all of Pavel’s hard work and talents, Spock has the mind of a genius twice Pavel’s intellect.

Or, he did. Now, he lets Pavel check for transmissions and life signs. When Pavel runs calculations by him, he barely nods. It’s as though the only thing he can hear is the blood thumping in his ears. Just when Pavel forces his admiring gaze aside, Spock gives up on his meditation. 

He slumps forward and puts his elbows on his knees, pressing his lips against his fingers, tented in the middle, two fingers from each hand. He watches the floor intently, and the precision on his face radiates an authority that makes Pavel shiver. 

Pavel turns to his own reflection in the windows. He’s never been any good at growing facial hair; he’s still clean. He probably won’t grow anything before the Enterprise finds them. Would Spock? Because Pavel likes to think that the Enterprise _will_ save them, in time to stop the _pon farr._

“You have been watching me.”

It’s not a question. 

Pavel glances shyly over his shoulder, trying not to look as embarrassed as he is. “...Sorry, sir.” But there’s nothing else to look at, and it’s cold in these metal walls, and Spock’s probably warm all over. 

And he’s hot. “You have been thinking about what I told you this morning.”

Pavel nods. His throat’s a little dry again. He waits for Spock to continue, but Spock doesn’t. Pavel looks back around, so he won’t have to see Spock when he says this. Tentatively, he mumbles, “Perhaps... if it is zhe only way... I could... I mean, you could, wizh me...”

“No,” Spock growls fiercely. “You are too young.”

“But... but if you’ll die...”

“I would rather die!” Spock shouts. Pavel flinches. He doesn’t turn back around. He never really knew how to handle Spock in the first place. (Although he would’ve liked to learn to—this mission started off so full of hope.) An emotional Spock is even harder. 

A part of Pavel is a little hurt and wonders if he’s not good enough to mate with. Perhaps what Spock means is that he’d rather die than touch Pavel. But that’s understandable. Spock dated Lieutenant Uhura once; he probably isn’t even into men. And why would he be into a lowly Ensign like Pavel, inexperienced and inferior? Blue, Pavel says quietly, “I’m sorry, sir.”

Spock goes back to ‘meditating.’

* * *

Pavel spends all evening praying the meditation will work. But when he curls up in the chair next to where Spock’s sitting, still cross legged with his hands on his knees, Pavel can see the agony all over Spock’s body. He’s trembling almost violently, and the noises he occasionally makes are akin to a dying horse. It’s horrible to watch. 

Pavel desperately wants to stop this. His mind has been wracking for solutions, something else they could do. He’s been through all the supplies on the ship in a last-ditch attempt at a miracle, but there’s nothing he could fashion into help. Nothing that could possibly stop a brain imbalance that Pavel knows nothing about. Nothing that would pacify a violent Vulcan. Spock clearly won’t tell him anything. Pavel feels helpless, and that isn’t a feeling he likes. 

There’s sweat on the back of Spock’s neck, peeking between his dark hair and black collar. Pavel’s tired mind can’t help but conjure thoughts of licking it off. Perhaps if he slunk to the floor and sat behind Spock, gave a great massage and made Spock’s muscles relax, Spock wouldn’t be in so much pain. Then he could lick the shell of a pointy ear and whisper that everything will be alright; he’d be happy to be ravished by his handsome commander. Perhaps Spock would relax and ‘physically copulate’ with the mate he needs, feel better and melt into Pavel’s arms.

Or perhaps Spock would be angry with him for interfering with a Vulcan matter and rip his head off. It isn’t some new alien disease, Spock said; it’s a part of Vulcan culture. A part of Spock. And this new Spock is... unpredictable. 

But it’s still Spock under there.

Spock, who Pavel’s always looked up to, Spock, who’s always so calm and collected, so _proud_ of being _logical_ , even if he won’t admit it. When Pavel thinks of how this loss of control must feel for a man so normally tight with his emotions, Pavel’s heart breaks. 

He desperately wants to give Spock a hug. It probably wouldn’t help. And Spock would hate it—the old Spock and this one alike. And his superior officer gave him an order to stay away. 

But he still _wants_ to.

Before he falls asleep, he mumbles to Spock’s shuddering back, “ _It’ll be okay._ ”

* * *

It’s still dark out when a jarring sound forces his eyes open. For a second, he’s just caught in the hazy remnants of a dream, and then the same sound rings through the little shuttle again. Pavel looks over to where it’s come from, and he shouts before he can stop himself, “Commander, no!”

Spock stops abruptly, head lurching over. His hands stay firmly on the shuttle door, which he seems to be trying to physically pry open. The chemicals outside must have fused it shut. 

Pavel doesn’t have time to worry about that. He climbs sleepily out his chair, rubbing at his eyes and muttering, “What are you... what are you doing?”

Level as ever, Spock says, “My condition has not lessened. I must remove myself from your presence before it is too late.” He turns back to the door and resumes pulling with all his might, tensing up and gritting his teeth. 

In a flash, Pavel’s bolted over, and he throws himself between Spock and the door without thinking, knocking Spock’s hands aside. “Commander, I won’t let you do zhat! You will die out zhere!”

“I will die anyway!” Spock roars. He takes a step back though, and he’s panting, skin crawling with clear fury, eyebrows down and knit together, boring a hole through Pavel’s chest. 

Pavel stomach is tight with fear. He tries to reason, “B-but, perhaps you could meditate more—you said you would wait until zhe morning, zhere are still seweral hours left for you to—”

That’s all he gets out before Spock slams into him, pinning him back to the wall. There are two fingers on his face, light rushing through.


	2. Taken

Knowing what it is—a Vulcan mind meld, it must be—doesn’t make it any easier. Pavel feels like his heart is going to jump out of his chest. His lungs have stopped functioning. There’s something in his _head_ , something that doesn’t belong there, strange and seeping into everything, all over him. It’s words and it’s pictures and it’s nothing distinguishable. A medley of _Spock_ , driven mad with lust and rage, pulses through every nerve ending and turns Pavel inside out, and when it pushes at the walls of his mind, he surrenders instantly. 

Then it’s everything. Spock’s in him like a flood, filling up his mind. Pavel tries to let it wash over him, let it take him, sweep him up. He can feel Spock asking for him, and he says _yes_ , yesyesyes. He can feel Spock’s need, both in his head and the side of his thigh. Spock’s hot body all over his, heating him up. His neck is tilted, chin trying to look up, trying to look into Spock’s eyes, but Pavel can barely keep his own open. Spock presses his forehead against Pavel’s. His laboured breath ghosts over Pavel’s lips, and he asks Pavel again: if he’s sure.

Pavel parts his lips invitingly, neck arching further, trying to bridge the distance. He surrenders, he surrenders. He would’ve never turned down a calm Spock. He can’t turn down an enraptured Spock, wild and radiating sex. He reeks of sex. It’s like he’s giving off a pheromone that’s turning Pavel’s head and knees to mush. When Spock’s consciousness starts to slowly withdraw from Pavel’s brain, it takes a bit of Pavel with it. 

Then he’s clear again, and he slumps down against the shuttle door. Spock’s arms shoot to either side of him, legs pinning him up, a hard thigh pressing between his own. Pavel spreads his legs. He can’t move. Spock grinds his hard body into Pavel’s, and Pavel whimpers pathetically. 

It’s too late. 

His first thought is joy—Spock will live. He doesn’t have any time for a second thought. Spock grabs the hem of his shirt and jerks it rapidly over his head, forcing Pavel’s arms up and muffling his cry through fabric. It’s torn right off his body, leaving him bare and covering his chest with his arms, but Spock grabs his wrists and slams them into the wall. Pavel gasps, head turning away. Spock’s staring at him, all trace of the Vulcan Pavel once knew gone from his eyes. 

He leans down and darts his tongue out to lick Pavel’s nipple, and Pavel jerks in his hold and sucks in breath. Smirking at the reaction, Spock flattens his tongue tight against Pavel’s nipple, pressing it in and lapping at it hard. Pavel _moans._ When it starts to get hard, Spock withdraws his tongue and sucks the pink nub into his lips, sucking it lightly. Pavel stares down, his own pupils dilating. It’s certainly something he never thought he’d see Spock do, but he’s certainly glad he’s getting the chance. Spock releases it with a wet pop and crosses his chest to the other nipple. That one doesn’t take long to harden; Pavel’s already so shamefully aroused. His pants are too tight. Spock’s hips are rolling into his, and by the time Spock lets his nipples go, he’s thrusting his hips up to meet Spock’s, far more weakly. 

Spock takes a minute to look at him. Pavel licks his lips, trying to look good under the scrutiny. Even before Spock grins—a very odd thing to see on those normally stern lips—the approval comes pouring through Pavel’s head. It must be the bond. He tries to project back that he’s happy Spock finds his body pleasing, but he has no idea if Spock heard him or not. 

He breathes aloud, shakily and thick with lust, “C-commander...” Spock’s hips start grinding harder. Pavel stops talking. He needs to divert his energy into breathing properly. Spock tilts his head and dives in, smashing their mouths together—another struggle for oxygen. Pavel’s moaning in a millisecond, eyelids fluttering against his cheeks, body trying to arch up into Spock. Spock tastes like a computer feels, now drenched in honey. Pavel’s sure his head is no longer working properly. He doesn’t care. He wants his hands free. He wants to touch Spock everywhere...

When Spock pulls back, Pavel’s head tries to follow, not wanting their lips apart. He doesn’t even have time to register that Spock’s letting go of his hands. Spock grabs him with one finger hooked into the hem of his pants, pulling him forward. Spock throws him sideways across the shuttle. 

Pavel’s knees give in, his stomach hits a chair, his arms scramble over it, bent over it. Spock’s behind him in a flash. There’s no time to try and get up. Spock’s chest is baring over him, and all Pavel can think is that he wishes he were feeling skin on skin, instead of his bare back against the fabric of Spock’s shirt. Spock’s hands are all over him, the first two fingers of each hand together, the other two fingers and thumb splayed. Pavel feels distinctly like he’s being mapped, memorized.

Spock’s face is on the back of his neck, teeth grazing his flesh before biting in hard. Pavel cries out, but Spock doesn’t break the skin, just bruises and sucks and licks, marking him like old Earth cattle. 

Pavel doesn’t need to be branded; he already knows he’s Spock’s.

* * *

Spock spends so much time kissing and biting and sucking on him that Pavel starts to lose track of himself, getting swept up in the heady sensations. He’s not exactly sure when he ended up on the floor, on his stomach, underwear and pants gone from his body, probably ripped to shreds, left in a heap halfway across the shuttle. He’s fairly sure Spock’s naked too, but every time he tries to look around, Spock shoves him back in place. Pavel keeps his arms obediently on the floor, partially because he’s too drained to lift them. 

He probably looks like a wreck. Covered in marks and they haven’t even started, flushed with anticipation. His cock’s torturously hard against the floor, but he can’t hump it like he wants to—Spock’s sitting on his ass. He can feel Spock’s mammoth cock resting between his cheeks, rock solid and heavy. Will it feel like a human cock inside him, Pavel wonders? It feels like that against him, except bigger and perfect. He wants to look, to examine it up close and properly, but he knows he shouldn’t move. 

This is Spock’s time. Spock’s in control. Pavel’s a tool to serve Spock’s desire, and he finds that far hotter than he probably should. 

Just when he’s starting to think he’ll never be able to wear collarless shirts again, Spock’s kisses started to trail lower than usual. The teeth only scrape a little, don’t latch on. Spock’s tongue is running down his spine, and Spock’s hips start to shift down Pavel’s legs, and Pavel moans loudly when Spock’s tongue reaches the dip of his lower back, laving up his pale skin. 

Then it’s back to shallow nips and quick kisses, down to the globes of hiss ass, and all Pavel can think is that _Spock is kissing his ass._ Is Spock going to rim him? Pavel’s never had anyone do that to him before. He did it to a fellow cadet once, right before that cadet fucked his mouth and left him in the empty classroom, unsatisfied and feeling cheap. But Pavel still wants to lick Spock’s ass. He wants to lick Spock _everywhere_. Instead, his cheek’s against the floor, completely at the mercy of a wild animal.

Spock’s kisses stop right above his crack. Pavel’s about to be disappointed, but then something wet and cold hits right between his cheeks, dribbling down between them. Pavel winces on instinct, and more liquid joins it. Spock’s saliva? Is Spock spitting on him? Pavel tries to strain his neck to see, but he’s sore. On the third glob, Pavel’s hips automatically lift off the floor, until Spock slaps them back down. 

So Pavel whimpers and is a good boy while Spock lathers up his hole. Something small and hard helps to spread the liquid around—Spock’s finger, he’s sure. Another joins in, and then Spock’s tracing Pavel’s entrance, pressing lightly against it. Pavel tries to relax. Spock’s finger pops in.

Pavel whines. He tries not to, but he does. Spock doesn’t stop. He starts to piston his blunt fingertip in and out of Pavel’s tight ass, aided by the saliva. There’s a shuddering presence in his head, something struggling to talk to him, to be a message rather than a cloud of desire. Pavel surrenders to it. 

Spock doesn’t want to hurt him. Pavel knows that. Spock acknowledges that Pavel’s a human, and his body isn’t meant to open up and accept a Vulcan mate, and Spock wants to be sure not to damage him. But it’s difficult. Spock _wants_ to ravage him, fuck him hard and fast and split him in two. It should scare Pavel, but instead he’s glad to know the old Spock is in there, somewhere, however deep, even if it can’t communicate a full sentence without shaking. 

Pavel tries to assure it, again unsure how to use the bond, that he appreciates it. That he doesn’t mind. That he wants Spock to ravage him, especially if Spock needs to to survive, if not for that than to please his superior officer and a man he’s always looked up to. He tentatively presses his ass up against Spock’s invading finger, even though it stings and feels strange: his way of saying, _‘take me.’_

Spock dives a second finger in. It hurts. Pavel gasps. His muscles tense, and he wills them not to, and he tries to relax. Spock’s pushing them in and pulling them out too fast. He wishes he were turned around so badly, so he could look at Spock properly, see his gorgeous black eyes and feel his toned chest...

Two fingers becomes three, becomes four, until Pavel’s writhing uselessly against the floor, trying hard to be good but feeling wanton. Spock isn’t hitting his prostate yet, but he knows it’s coming. Spock’s teasing the walls of his ass and spreading him open like an expert. When his fingers leave, Pavel doesn’t want them to.

Pavel doesn’t have time to look around. He’s grabbed firmly by the waist and lifted off the floor, turned and shoved back into the chair, bent over it, sideways against the arm rests. His ass is high in the air, presented like a prize. He wants to try and adjust, but there isn’t any time. Spock’s bent over him, cock pressing at his open hole. Spock’s wondrously naked, all skin on skin. Just what Pavel wanted. Spock probably looks glorious, but Pavel has trouble craning back to look. Spock nips the shell of his ear to draw his attention back, hissing fiercely, “Mine.”

Pavel wants to agree. But he’s too busy screaming. Spock’s slammed brutally inside him, all at once, cock filling him up to the brim and spreading his walls impossibly wide. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Spock’s _huge_. Pavel arches, mouth wide and eyes scrunched shut, thighs trembling beneath Spock’s powerful legs. It’s a good thing he’s against the chair; he wouldn’t have been able to keep up otherwise. 

It takes a small eternity for Spock to get fully inside, even though he presses too fast and he doesn’t stop once. Pavel’s walls grind him to a slow march, convulsing and twitching despite any efforts to relax. It’s hard for Pavel to relax with a giant cock inside him. He tries, and he struggles to breathe. Spock’s chest is hard against his back, arms tight around him, sandwiching them together. One of Spock’s hands slips beneath Pavel’s smooth navel and encircles his cock, keeping him hard despite the pain in his ass. Spock’s other hand runs soothingly up and down his side, squeezing at his hip and steadying him in place. 

When Spock finally, _finally_ gets all the way in, fully, magnificently sheathed in Pavel’s small body, Pavel whimpers, “C... commander...”

Spock grabs his hair and jerks his head around, bending and twisting lower to kiss him. It’s awkward and it makes Pavel’s neck sore, but it makes his lips burn in a beautiful way. He can feel Spock in his head, telling him things will be okay and just to relax. 

Pavel’s a good ensign. He listens. 

Then Spock’s slipping out. When just the tip’s inside, he slams Pavel forward into the chair, holding Pavel’s cock protectively so it doesn’t smash into the armrest, cock stabbing back in all the way. Pavel _shrieks._ He doesn’t have time to catch his breath. Spock pulls out, slams back in. His hips rock against Pavel, working up a steady rhythm, thrusting in and out harder and harder, too fast and brutal. The most brutal sex Pavel’s ever had, by far. Spock’s fingers claw in his hip, the other hand pumping his cock, Spock’s cock pounding into his prostate again and again, the perfect angle every time. Pavel screams himself hoarse.

He comes in a matter of minutes. His balls tighten, his stomach’s spinning, head foggy and useless, and his cock jerks and shoots the front of the chair and Spock’s hand. Spock’s hand stills but holds on tight so Pavel doesn’t hurt himself against the chair. He can feel his ass spasming around Spock’s dick, but Spock just keeps going, not missing a beat. Pavel’s head doesn’t have room to come back down. Spock’s fucking him over and over. 

At some point, Pavel loses his voice. All he can do is gasp for breath, panting hard, like his pulse is going to short circuit. His ass feels red; it’s on fire from being spanked by Spock’s body. It’s so hard to keep track of everything. Spock’s powerful thighs pinning him up, Spock’s hands on his cock and his waist, Spock’s teeth in his shoulder, then his neck, then his ear, Spock’s breath over his hair and Spock’s heart rate, inhuman. Spock’s battering his prostate too hard for Pavel to stand. It’s too early to get hard again. But he’s young. It doesn’t take long. Spock never stops.

When Pavel gets hard a second time, Spock tenderly returns to stroking his cock, powerful hips still impaling Pavel over and over again. On a sudden whim—the idea to make this go faster because as wonderful as it is, it _hurts_ and he’s going to pass out—Pavel clenches his ass. Spock hisses in appreciation, and Pavel, swelling with pride, does it again and again. 

Then Spock _roars_ , fierce and wild in Pavel’s ear. He stops slamming Pavel into the chair, pulls him back and holds his ass out, grinding hard into it. Spock’s hands slip to Pavel’s waist, holding him there and squeezing. Spock presses the side of his face against Pavel’s: a connection that can’t be explained. 

Pavel moans brokenly as his ass is filled with Spock’s cum. His own bursts a second time, spilling less. Spock’s cum is hot in every sense. Burning him up. His whole body’s on fire, covered in sweat. They reek of it. Spock keeps coming and coming, much more than any human could, and Pavel whimpers and takes it, squirming as the river of cum trickles out around the cock inside him and dribbles down his thighs. There isn’t enough room inside him for it. Spock’s still holding him. 

When Spock finally slips out, Pavel isn’t entirely sure he wants that. But he’s too weak to protest. He lets himself be emptied, and then he falls uselessly to the floor, limp and heavy. He turns to look up at Spock, who towers over him, cock still impossibly hard. 

Pavel’s sure he’s going to pass out from body strain or lack of oxygen. But he spreads his legs timidly anyway, trying to show that he’s Spock’s, and he just wants to please his mate. Spock’s staring intensely at him. 

Spock turns and walks to the back of the shuttle, sitting down to perch on his haunches.


	3. Again

Pavel gets hard on the next round but doesn’t come. He just sort of slowly flags afterwards, cheek pressed against the floor and stomach warm against the hot metal. He’s used to running around, youthful and excited, but this is too, too much. All the energy left him a few hours ago, and he’s running on adrenaline and hormones. He doesn’t have the strength to roll himself over. 

Long fingers on his shoulder do it for him. He lets Spock reposition him, and then he lets Spock snake a hand under his back, making him sit up. Pavel curls weakly up against Spock’s warm body, nuzzling into his shoulder. Spock holds out a water bottle. 

Pavel’s throat has been dry for a while. But amidst everything else, it didn’t seem that pressing. Now he guzzles the water down, grateful. He makes a keening sound of thanks when he’s done, because his voice is still sore. His whole body’s sore. Spock puts the water bottle aside and feels Pavel’s forehead. 

He lets Pavel back down to the floor. Pavel stays on his back, blearily trying to watch his mate, circling him like prey. There’s something absolutely predatory in the way Spock walks, the way he crawls, the way he moves. He sidles up between Pavel’s legs, lifting them aside. He’s still hard. How is he still hard?

Pavel reaches a hand down to touch it. Spock lets Pavel stroke his cock while he adjusts Pavel’s position, clearly ready to fuck again. Sounding a little drunk to his own ears, Pavel mumbles, “You’re... you’re going to really fuck my brains out of my skull, Commander...” Spock looks at him and raises an eyebrow. Spock’s such an animal right now that it’s hard to tell if he understands English or not. Pavel admits sheepishly, “Newer mind.” He lets go of Spock’s hard dick. 

A moment to adjust. Spock slams back inside him, and Pavel whimpers, arching off the floor. His head lolls back. Spock finds his prostate on the first hit, and it’s torture. He can’t get hard again; he’s not going to. His small body can’t take it. He begs, “S-Spock, p... please... not... not zhere... I can’t take it...” He has to keep stopping to cry out. 

Spock ducks down to kiss him. Pavel wraps his hands loosely around Spock’s shoulders, trying to hold him in place. If he had even a fraction more of his senses, he’d feel Spock up. Instead, he grins appreciatively when Spock’s next thrust misses his prostate. Spock continues at that angle, over and over again, as harshly as before. It’s loud sex. Slapping sounds and heavy breathing, jarring thrusts and Pavel’s moans and whimpers. He doesn’t know how long it’s going to be like this, but he isn’t going to last forever. What if Spock just fucks him for the next however-many-days-are-left? His brain isn’t functioning. What if the captain opens their shuttle and Pavel’s sill impaled on Spock’s massive dick, thrown up and down like a rag doll? He’d have to stay with Dr. McCoy for a month. Is he going to have to go to sickbay every time Spock fucks him, or is this just _pon farr_?

It’s probably just _pon farr_. Regular Spock—a Spock in control of his senses—would see that Pavel’s on the brink of collapse and _stop._

But Pavel doesn’t mind being used like this, even if it hurts. So long as Spock’s okay. Will be okay. Pavel will always do _everything_ he can to help. He buries his face in the side of Spock’s neck and surrenders.

* * *

Spock still doesn’t pull out until he’s emptied himself inside Pavel again. Pavel’s not sure how many loads he’s carrying, but it feels like there’s a river between his thighs. He knows they’ve made a mess of the floor. Spock’s cum is a milky sort of clear-white, and there’s a _lot_ of it.

When Spock’s done, Pavel curls up on his side in the puddle of cum. He doesn’t care that it’s all over him. He can’t even remember what they came to this stupid planet for. There should be a bed. There’s a tiny toilet and a sink in a cubicle in the back but no _bed._ He feels Spock’s nose nuzzling into his shoulder, like a lion nudging its cub. 

He wishes Spock would talk to him more. Pavel used to be a talker. When he was on Earth or the Enterprise, anyway, with people to talk to. But Spock seems lost from the world, and he just strokes up and down Pavel’s body with two fingers, petting him possessively. 

Pavel glances over his shoulder and whines quietly, “I miss you, Commander. Zhe way you used to be. I mean... zhis is wery hot, don’t get me wrong... and normally I assure you I hawe good stamina and am always excited to play, but... but zhis is a lot...” He pauses, then adds, “I hope you aren’t mad at me when you’re back to your usual self...”

Pavel does sort of wonder if he should be fighting more. For Spock’s sake, who wouldn’t think back on this and see it as sexually as Pavel does. Spock keeps petting him while he talks, and Pavel rolls over onto his back again, so he can reach up and tentatively touch Spock’s hair. He half expects Spock to jerk away and hiss at him, but Spock sits still. He continues staring down at Pavel so fiercely that it makes Pavel squirm—Spock’s looking at him like he’s some sort of meal. 

Spock’s hair is soft. Completely straight, and a little mussed from sweat. When Spock doesn’t stop him, Pavel traces the line of Spock’s bangs, Mumbling, “You’re so _attractiwe,_ Commander... don’t be mad at me when you return, please... I couldn’t help myself...” He drops his hand, feeling a little guilty. Spock and his pretty hair.

Pavel isn’t particularly surprised when Spock picks him up by the hips, carrying him awkwardly across the shuttle. He’s pushed onto the console at the front of the ship, ass and lower back scraping various controls. But it’s dark, and the power’s still off, and so long as Spock doesn’t hit the buttons on the other side, they should be alright. It’s still uncomfortable and sore. Spock spreads Pavel’s legs wider, pressing in between them, bending Pavel over it. 

Pavel tries to whimper, “Commander, please, I’m so tired—AH—” But it’s no use. Spock’s mouth is on him again, sucking in his tongue and nibbling at his lips, teeth and noses bumping together. He can feel the slight edge of Spock’s stubble scratching his chin, and Spock’s fingering his hole, checking that he’s still wet and open. Pavel’s not sure he’ll ever close up again. But at least Spock’s facing him this time; that’s something. 

Spock’s finger brushes his prostate. Pavel jumps and whines desperately, and he’s surprised when his cock gives a little twitch. His body’s completely spent, but somehow he still starts to get hard. Spock bears down over him, lining up for another round. Spock kisses Pavel’s cheek almost affectionately, and that’s what really gets Pavel’s blood pumping.

Then Spock slams inside him, and Pavel screams and throws his hands against Spock’s chest. He doesn’t quite push; there’s no point; Spock’s so _strong_. But he still applies pressure, trying to hold himself in place. It’s useless. Spock fucks him hard, stabbing him up the console and dragging him back down, kissing him feverishly and squeezing his ass. Pavel lets his fingers roam down Spock’s body, _finally_ getting a proper feel, trying to remember everything. He plays with Spock’s brownish nipples and he traces down Spock’s tight stomach, down to the dark smattering of hair that dips towards his cock. Pavel runs his hands around Spock’s sides, up his curved back, over his spine and across his shoulder blades, clinging to his broad shoulders. Spock feels like a dream. 

_His_ dream. It makes Pavel feel inexplicably good to know that Spock felt him, _wants_ him too. And he really, really hopes that that lasts longer than just _pon farr._ _Mate_ just sounds so permanent. If it was just sex, surely Spock would’ve said that, or ‘to mate,’ rather than ‘take a mate’...

But there’s no way to know, and there’s no one to ask. Spock loops his arms under Pavel’s knees, lifting them right back, bending Pavel in two. The balls of Pavel’s feet rest against Spock’s back, thrown off and back on as Spock fucks him. Pavel tries to wrap around Spock properly, holding on so he won’t get tossed around as much. 

Spock keeps his tongue firmly in Pavel’s mouth the whole time. It makes it difficult to breathe, but it’s worth it. Pavel slides his fingers back up to Spock’s hair, running through it and grabbing it, and he half expects Spock to hit him or order him to stop, but Spock only groans into his mouth and picks up the pace. If that’s even possible. It feels like his brain’s rattling around his skull. It’s too much. His cock is hard against Spock’s stomach, the friction driving him insane. 

Spock reaches under him and grabs his cock. That’s everything. That’s it. Pavel shrieks into Spock’s mouth, and Spock pumps his orgasm out, and Pavel sees stars. His eyes lull open and his vision blurs, his head closing in around him. He’s vaguely aware that Spock’s still fucking him, but he can’t do anything about it.

The darkness gets him; he passes out.


	4. Breathe

He hears before he sees. A faint clapping. His thighs against legs. His skin’s on fire and wet with sweat, sticky with cum. His curls are plastered to his forehead, his knees digging into the sides of... of a chair. Pavel blearily blinks his eyes open. His insides are throbbing, stretched wide around something thick and long, impaling him over and over. Pavel’s nearly convulsing with the sensation. 

He’s sitting in Spock’s lap, in a chair, arms trapped limply between them. Pavel shifts them around Spock’s body so he can curl into Spock’s chest, head nestled in Spock’s shoulder. Spock pets his back soothingly and kisses his forehead. Blessedly, Spock’s hips slow down. He still fucks Pavel, but less harshly, rocking up into him gently rather than pounding him into the air. Pavel appreciates it, and he whimpers his thanks. 

If this goes on much longer, Pavel’s going to start feeling like Spock’s dick is a part of him. He’s getting very used to the feeling of being filled, the way Spock stretches him wide and pulses against his walls, plugging him full of cum. None of it seems to have dried yet, and the scientific side of Pavel is inappropriately curious—perhaps not as much time as he thinks has passed, but more likely, Vulcan cum doesn’t dry as fast. As Spock might say: fascinating. 

Long fingers curl under Pavel’s chin, tilting it up. Pavel parts his lips obediently, and Spock claims them. The way Spock’s touching him is almost loving. A warm, affectionate feeling slithers into his head, perhaps through the bond, like a wave of assurance. Pavel mewls happily into Spock’s mouth. 

But in a few minutes, he’s back to whimpering, because his rear is on fire and it really, really stings. And he’s _exhausted_. What a wake up. But perhaps it’s best that Spock does this while he’s unconscious, so he won’t have to suffer. He wonders vaguely how many times Spock’s used him in between. When he glances over his shoulder, it’s a dusty sort of dusk colour out the window. Spock grabs his chin and pulls him back again. 

Pavel mumbles, “Sorry, sir,” before their lips are resealed.

* * *

Pavel’s trembling all over by the time Spock finally comes inside him. Apparently, going slower only makes Spock take longer. Pavel isn’t sure which he prefers. Not that it should really matter how long it takes Spock to finish. He’s hard again in minutes, and he tenderly picks Pavel out of the chair, laying him back down on the floor.

Pavel moans, but Spock only turns him over, lifting him onto all fours. It’s as though Spock wants to fuck him in every position imaginable, and that would all sound wonderful to Pavel, if it weren’t all at once. “S... Spock,” he whimpers, trying to push it through the bond too. “Please... just... just let me rest a little, zhen you can hawe me all you want...”

Spock growls like an animal and spreads Pavel’s legs, climbing on top of him. The only difference between this and being mounted and humped by a dog is the shape of Spock’s body. He doesn’t speak and he doesn’t listen, and he pushes inside Pavel, fucking him all over again. Pavel can’t hold himself up; his legs are shaking too badly. Spock holds him up by the waist. His arms give out and he stops himself just in time from having his head smash into the floor. He turns his cheek to the side, scrunching his eyes up and gritting his teeth, telling himself that this is all necessary for Spock to be _okay_. That makes it a little easier. Spock nuzzles into the back of his head and starts biting and sucking on him again. Pavel wonders vaguely if Bones will be able to cover the bruises, or if he’s now permanently scared with Spock’s teeth and nail marks. He’s sort of glad there isn’t a mirror in the shuttle. Even though he knows he’ll wear them with pride.

For the most part, Pavel just takes it. He can’t get hard anymore, and probably noting that, Spock is kind enough not to hit his prostate on this round. It’s one of those times where he’s just a tool for Spock to get off on: something for Spock to stick his cock into. Pavel’s whimpers get shakier and shakier, and he’s willing himself not to cry from sheer overuse. 

Spock brushes some of the hair around his ear aside and hisses into it in a foreign tongue that Pavel miraculously understands through the bond, “ _It will be okay, little one._ ” Pavel shivers all over. 

His knotted chest unwinds a little, muscles relaxing. Spock _spoke_ to him. Spock’s still in there. Chewing his lower lip to keep himself in check, Pavel tentatively presses his ass back into Spock, even though it stings, just to show his devotion. 

He swears he can _feel_ Spock’s grin, and Spock kisses his ear fondly. 

It seems to take forever for Spock to come. During it, Pavel just does his best to stay up, being still and quiet. Like a good mate. He does know Spock appreciates him, he can feel it, and the bond tells him as much. He can tell when Spock’s getting close, and then he does his best to clench the muscles of his ass, helping it along. 

Spock hisses in thanks and spills himself inside Pavel for what feels like the billionth time, grinding it all out. Afterwards, he stills, holding Pavel up and panting next to his ear. 

Pavel turns to kiss Spock on the cheek. Spock gently lays him back down on the floor, facing up at the grey ceiling. 

Spock settles between his legs, climbing over him, and Pavel whines instantly, “No... no... no, please...” He trails off in a broken cough. His throat’s dry again and he just... can’t take it _again._

Spock doesn’t seem to be listening. He’s hiking Pavel’s legs up over his shoulders, looking hungrily down at Pavel’s cock and ass. He reaches for Pavel’s flaccid cock, stroking it softly. 

By now, Pavel could, perhaps, get hard again. He’s young, and Spock’s so, _so_ hot like this, so handsome always. But Pavel doesn’t want to. Even if his cock could take it, his head can’t. His body can’t. His limbs are too heavy, and his arms are limp against the floor as he writhes pathetically, tears beading at the corner of his eyes. “Commander, please...”

The head of Spock’s dick presses against Pavel’s abused entrance, and Pavel hiccups and sniffs, and the tears trickle down the sides of his cheeks. He scrunches his eyes shut, not wanting to cry, but he can’t help it. He licks his lips and wills himself better, trying to surrender himself to his commanding officer, his new better half. 

He’s both shocked and incredibly relieved when he feels Spock’s dick fall away. A part of him expects it to come slamming back in, and he tenses. 

That doesn’t happen. After a few seconds, Pavel squints his eyes open, to see Spock staring down at him. Even during _pon farr_ , his face is so level. It would be emotionless, if it weren’t for the obvious hunger and lust. Otherwise, it’s regular Spock, tuned up to extra volume. 

Spock climbs slowly to his feet, then moves to sit in one of the chairs next to Pavel, looking down at him predatorily. Possessively. It’s sort of like Spock’s guarding him, except that there’s nothing in the shuttle to hurt him other than Spock’s wild sex drive. 

Pavel smiles anyway, pushing his gratitude and loyalty through the bond.

* * *

Pavel manages to get some water and rations in him before he decides walking just isn’t worth it. He could probably use a shower. Definitely use a shower. He’s sticky all over. But he’s not going to move again. He’s lying on his stomach, because when his back’s on the floor, it’s hard on his sore ass. Walking is a nightmare. For a while, he watches the window, and then inevitably goes back to looking at Spock, even though that’s dangerous. 

Spock’s still utterly naked. Utterly intoxicating. The way he’s sprawled out in the chair is nothing short of pure eroticism, fingers clawed in the armrests. His pupils are still blown wide. His cock is sticking straight up. Pavel eyes his beautiful body and frowns. 

Spock’s visibly shaking with need, hips rocking subtly against the chair, even though there’s nothing for him to hump. It’s obvious that he’s holding himself back from fucking Pavel unconscious again. Pavel appreciates the gesture, but it’s difficult to watch. Seeing Spock in pain isn’t something Pavel wanted. To think that there’s a need in Spock that Pavel can’t provide for _hurts_.

Pavel bites his swollen bottom lip and chews it absently, mumbling quietly to himself, “I... can do zhat...” Spock’s in pain, and he can fix it; there must be some way. 

Pavel pushes up onto his hands and knees, taking a minute to stretch. Then he shakes his head out and crawls groggily forward, up next to Spock. Spock’s entire body is tense, eyes fixed on Pavel. He arches an eyebrow.

Pavel tentatively crawls between Spock’s legs and puts a hand on either thigh. His eyes plead with Spock not to move, trying to say that he needs Spock to sit still. He’s not offering to get fucked again. 

Well... in a way, he is. He licks his lips and drops his eyes to the large cock in front of him, beautifully engorged and drizzled in cum. The outlines of veins along the shaft sport green, but the rest of it’s slightly pink, darker at the head. Pavel sucks in a deep breath. It doesn’t look like it’ll fit. 

But it shouldn’t have fit in his ass, either. He’s going to try. Pavel psyches himself up and leans forward hesitantly, sticking out his tongue.

As soon as he’s touching the cock, Spock growls fiercely. Pavel licks up the shaft, tasting the salty cum along it, licking again from the base. He wonders vaguely if Vulcans give blowjobs. Then he figures they must’ve at least tried it. They have cocks and mouths; it’s obvious. Thinking about Spock’s massive cock makes Pavel’s mouth water, and that’s part of why he knows he shouldn’t look at Spock in the in-between time; it’s too hard to remember he’s too tired for this.

Once, Spock thrusts upward against Pavel’s mouth, and Pavel jerks away. He pushes Spock’s thighs lightly back down and looks up, gulping, “Commander, _no_.”

Spock’s brows furrow. Pavel’s cheeks colour. He’s never ordered about a superior officer before, but evidently, he just did. He’s shocked when it works. Spock settles back down and keeps his hips politely still, while Pavel goes back to licking all up and down his cock. Pavel doesn’t even have to hold the base. It rests heavily on his tongue, and Pavel stretches his mouth open as wide as it’ll go, pressing forward. 

The second the head slips between his lips, Pavel’s eyes flutter closed in pleasure. He’s never been that much into sucking cock, but the idea that it’s _Commander Spock’s_ makes him nearly giddy. Spock’s in his _mouth._ He’s dizzy all over again, and he lets himself slowly take more and more, crawling down. He strokes Spock’s thighs with his thumbs while he goes, trying to say thank you for keeping still. When he glances up through his lashes, Spock’s lips are parted, breathing heavily, looking very pleased.

Pavel can’t fit it all in his mouth. He just _can’t._ He wants to deep throat Spock, but he doesn’t think he can right now, not when it’s already such a struggle to keep oxygen in his lungs. He wants to feel Spock’s balls against his chin and Spock’s pubic hair against his nose. Hopefully, another time, he will. 

Hopefully, there’ll be another time. 

Pavel tentatively sucks, and Spock audibly gasps. His head rolls back and snaps down, staring at Pavel with his eyebrows knit together, painting in confusion and satisfaction. Perhaps Vulcans don’t have blowjobs, after all. Smiling around the cock in his mouth, Pavel hollows out his cheeks, taking in as much of _Spock_ as he can. Spock groans, and Pavel moans just as loudly. He can feel Spock’s thighs tensing up beneath his hands, fighting the urge to piston forward. 

Pavel rewards the good behaviour by starting to bob up and down, lips sliding over the engorged shaft. It’s glistening with cum and saliva, and Pavel sucks as much as he can, careful with his teeth. It only gets better when Spock’s skilled fingers slip into his hair, tugging him lightly and stroking back his curls. Pavel takes that as encouragement and keeps going, more and more. His own cock twitches between his legs, but it can’t manage to get fully up again after everything. Pavel takes it. The dizziness of being turned on helps counter the pain, so he lets himself inhale the sweaty stench of sex and Vulcan all over Spock’s body. He sucks and he sucks and he slides back and forth, letting the head jab at the back of his throat. 

After a bit, he gets so enthusiastic that he almost chokes himself, and he has to still to adjust, just for a few seconds. Then he’s back on as fast as he was, apologizing with his eyes for the delay. There’s a loyalty in Spock’s eyes that’s breathtaking, and it makes Pavel’s blood rush faster and faster. 

Spock holds out impossibly long, like he always does. Pavel doesn’t stop, except for the two other times he gags, but he keeps his lips around Spock’s dick the whole time, sucking and tasting and swallowing all the cum and precum it dribbles down his throat. By the time Spock finally finishes, Pavel’s jaw aches as much as the rest of him. But it’s worth it. 

There’s nothing like being full of Vulcan cock, and when Spock explodes in his mouth, Pavel only pulls back because Spock makes him. He’s jerked off by a fist in his hair, and Spock’s release splatters his face, mostly into his open mouth. He closes his eyes just in time, but he leaves his lips open, letting the cum hit his tongue and slip down his throat, pouring into him like a flood. Spock comes and comes, and Pavel takes it all, leaning up to kiss it and suck it when it’s done, prodding for more. 

He has to wipe his eyes off on the back of his hand to open them again, and he licks his hand clean while he looks up at Spock, trying to ask if he did okay. 

Spock slips off the chair and kisses him fiercely.


	5. Last

It’s dark outside and it’s dark in the shuttle, and they’re curled up in the back on a mattress of their clothes. Pavel doesn’t have any room to be cold anymore; Spock won’t let him go. 

He’s lying on his side, and Spock’s lying behind him. Spock’s arms are locked firmly around him, Spock’s lips licking, kissing, and occasionally sucking the back of his neck and his shoulders. Pavel can honestly say that he’d never thought he’d ever spoon with Commander Spock. 

Fortunately, he would’ve been wrong. 

In trying to adjust to get comfortable, Pavel ends up rolling onto his other side. Spock lets him and pulls Pavel back in when they’re facing one another, always so close. The pale starlight through the windows glints across Spock’s dark hair and dark eyes. He doesn’t look the least bit tired, but his cock isn’t as hard as it was earlier, and he’s letting Pavel rest. Pavel smiles sleepily. He appreciates it. 

Mostly because he can—and a little scared the whole way that it’ll turn out he can’t—Pavel rubs his hand against Spock’s chest, down his side, over his heart. Spock doesn’t move. Pavel whispers, “...I know how wery wrong zhis is, but... I am still enjoying zhis too much, Commander.”

“Spock,” Spock grunts. Pavel’s head snaps up, watching Spock’s eyes. Spock doesn’t say anything more, but Pavel can guess it’s a correction. 

He tentatively tries, “...Enjoying zhis too much, Spock...?”

Spock’s lips twitch up. It’s the faint hint of a smile that he’ll usually do instead of a real one, on the odd occasion he’s willing to show signs of happiness at all. Pavel grins back like an idiot, feeling young with a crush. 

Normally, when he gets a crush on senior officers, they don’t screw his brains out for the next several days. But that’s half the point of space. The Enterprise is rarely normal.

Spock cups the side of Pavel’s face and whispers, in Vulcan, Pavel thinks, though he can understand it, “ _It will be over soon._ ”

Tired and sore as he is, Pavel isn’t sure he wants that. But he does want the soothing sound of Spock’s voice, and he closes his eyes while Spock kisses his forehead, petting him off to sleep.

* * *

Pavel sleeps remarkably well for a naked person on the hard floor of a shuttle, fucked senseless and sticky with semen. He wakes up once in the middle of the night, when it’s still dark outside, and somewhere along the line, he’s rolled his way back around. Pavel smacks his lips—his throat’s dry. 

Disentangling himself from Spock’s limbs is a bit of a hassle. Spock’s arms are still around him, and Spock’s legs are jumbled with his. He can feel every hard muscle on Spock’s chest and the fuzz beneath his stomach. When Pavel manages to get free and look around, he’s half surprised to see Spock’s eyes closed. So maddened Vulcans do sleep, then. Pavel just takes a minute to _look_ at Spock, without being watched back like a hawk. 

Then he crawls over to the metal box of rations they have along the wall. Walking’s too much trouble. He sits on his knees while he unscrews a bottle of water, not wanting to touch his bum to the ground. When he’s done, he puts the bottle back, closes the box, and crawls back to where Spock’s lying, eyes now half-open. 

Pavel hesitates, but Spock lifts an arm expectantly. So Pavel crawls back in and settles in next to his mate, leaning up when Spock leans in for a kiss. 

As they part, Spock asks levelly, “Have I hurt you at all?”

Pavel blinks, taken by surprise. He pulls back a little to get a better look at Spock’s face, a little more uncontrolled than usual, a little less flushed than before. Pavel doesn’t answer for a moment, and Spock raises an eyebrow. 

Pavel shakes his head. Even though he aches all over. He went through all of Starfleet’s intensive training, and he’s an active officer—it isn’t anything he can’t handle. “I’m alright.”

Spock’s fingers trail along Pavel’s collarbone, tracing angry, red bruises, and Pavel winces. Eyeing him appraisingly, Spock drawls, “ _Pon farr_ can be very... strenuous.”

Nodding in full agreement, Pavel can’t help but ask timidly, “Are you... are you feeling any better, Co— ...Spock?”

Spock doesn’t answer. Just kisses him again. That’s sort of an answer. 

Then Spock pushes at Pavel’s shoulders and rolls him onto his back, and Pavel makes a muffled cry into Spock’s mouth. Again? It must be again. Spock’s spreading Pavel’s legs around his waist, and Pavel can feel Spock’s heavy dick stiff against his thigh. He can’t protest, because there’s a talented tongue in his mouth, taking him over. He wouldn’t anyway. He squirms while Spock reaches two fingers down into him, and he wraps his arms around Spock’s body. 

“ _You are a good mate_ ,” Spock hisses to him in Vulcan—a language Pavel could’ve never understood before the bond. He glows with the praise, and Spock kisses his forehead, down to the bridge of his nose, the tip of his nose, then his cheek. “ _Very submissive, very pretty. I chose well_.”

Pavel isn’t sure how to feel about that. Spock didn’t really have a choice. Pavel supposes it doesn’t matter if Spock thinks of him as submissive and pretty, so long as he belongs to Spock, and Spock likes it. 

He’d like to show Spock that he’s worthy in other ways too—he was always top of his class in Starfleet, and he’s probably one of the only officers on board that could keep up with Spock’s calculations without a computer. Someday, he’ll prove himself to Spock. 

For now, he lets Spock finger him apart, stretching his tender walls wide. 

Pavel doesn’t protest the cock nudging at his entrance. Spock’s kissing all over his face, stroking him tenderly and promising pleasure. Even though Pavel’s too spent to get hard, he enjoys the warmth and security he feels in these arms. Being close to Spock is all he could ask for. 

Spock kisses a trail to his ear and purrs, “ _Good boy..._.”

Pavel shivers. Spock pushes inside him slower than he ever has. It’s just a little bit at a time, giving Pavel time to adjust. Every time Pavel starts to squirm, Spock stills. When Spock’s finally, gloriously inside all the way, every last bit, Pavel mumbles brokenly, “G... go...”

Spock pulls out and rocks gently back in. Pavel’s hips roll with the odd sensation. It doesn’t hurt so much when Spock’s going like this. Spock’s weight on top of him is wondrously warm, blanketing him in comfort. For the first time, it feels like Spock’s really, truly making love to him. That feeling is enough to make Pavel’s cock twitch, and Spock’s fingers slip between them to wrap around it. Pavel gasps, and Spock starts to stroke him. Maybe some of that Vulcan stamina is slipping through the bond. There’s no reason Pavel shouldn’t be collapsing, but he isn’t. He matches Spock’s steady pace, happy to rock himself up into Spock’s hand. Spock has such _talented_ hands. Rubbing and pumping and squeezing lightly...

Spock rubs his prostate just enough to make him moan. Just enough to keep him warm. He’s kept on the brink of ecstasy, stroked and teased and played with, _made love to_ over and over again. It’s a very long time before it’s too much, and Pavel hugs Spock tightly, letting the orgasm wash over him. It rolls through his whole body like a steady, pleasant wave, and Spock softly pumps him out. Spock isn’t far behind. He pulls back to lean his forehead on Pavel’s, and he’s coming a second later. 

He pulls out before he’s done, spilling all down Pavel’s ass. Some of it gets on their clothes. Right now, Pavel’s too sleepy and spent to mind or care.

He opens his arms for Spock to nuzzle back into him, and they curl up in each other’s embrace.

* * *

The sun gets into his eyes, and Pavel tries to roll over to avoid it. The warm body he fell asleep next to isn’t as close as it was, so he worms his way closer across the haphazard pile of clothes. He doesn’t want to open his eyes, but he doesn’t have to. He can smell Spock next to him, feel Spock through the bond. He wants to go back to sleep. The dull aches are all coming back to him. 

After a minute, he realizes Spock isn’t holding him. He wriggles his thighs—Spock’s legs aren’t between them or around them. After the past few days, that’s sort of... strange.

Pavel forces his eyes to blink open, facing away from the windows anyway. Spock’s already awake, lying still and watching him. 

Spock’s face is almost back to what Pavel remembers. He looks calmer. He isn’t trembling. Better. Pavel’s getting a little cold, but he suddenly doesn’t want to shuffle closer—not if Spock’s normal again and doesn’t want him. 

“Good Morning,” Spock says levelly. 

“Good morning, sir,” Pavel yawns. 

Spock’s forehead twitches at the word ‘sir,’ but he doesn’t say anything. 

Curiously, Pavel asks, “...Is it over?”

Spock shakes his head. “No. I believe I am... a bit more in control than I was, but it is a process. The effects will linger for a while, and I will still be dangerous. You should exercise caution.”

Pavel’s eyebrows knit together. He hasn’t been careful this entire time. But he nods, anyway, just to make Spock not worry. If Vulcans worry. He wants to ask how long the effects will linger. Instead he says quietly, “I’m... your mate now.”

Spock nods. “You are.”

“For how long...?”

Something flickers over Spock’s face. It’s back to normal too quickly for Pavel to decipher the problem, but he knows there is one. Voice less steady, Spock says, “Vulcans mate for life. There is a bond between us. It should stay. ...However, if you should choose to leave me once the _pon farr_ is over, the tie will gradually loosen, allowing you to eventually break away if you so choose...” His voice darkens as he says it, a warning growl in the back of his throat. 

Pavel’s taken aback by the strange wording as much as the tone. If he chooses? Spock’s making it sound like he’s the one that would want to leave. But then, why would Spock want to leave? He’s obviously still in the midst of _pon farr_. He might feel differently once he’s back to normal. For now... he looks agitated at the thought of Pavel leaving him, and Pavel whispers, “I don’t want to leave you.”

Spock hisses, “Excellent.” He’s breathing harder.

Then he suddenly lunges at Pavel, knocking Pavel to the floor and over, and Spock’s over him, pinning him down. Pavel whimpers under the weight. Spock stares at him. Spock gulps. “I am... I am in control of my emotions...” He isn’t talking to Pavel. That much is obvious. “I am in control.” He shuts his eyes, teeth gritting. Whatever this form of madness is that’s gripping at him, he’s fighting it. When his eyes open again, they’re dilated and lust clouded, and Spock growls, “I still want to fuck you.”

Shifting slightly on the hard floor, Pavel suggests, “If you roll back over, I will suck you again.”

“Suck me?” Spock asks. He looks skeptical and ready to pounce. 

Pavel isn’t ready for another round. He winces and tries to explain, “Suck your cock. It means I’ll put it in my mouzh, and lick it and suck on it until you come.”

“A human tradition,” Spock snorts. He seems to consider it for a second, though, and then he adds nonchalantly, “Very well.”

And he rolls off Pavel, onto his back, cock arching proudly up towards the ceiling. 

As Pavel crawls down to it, Spock mutters under his breath, “They will come soon.”

Trying to hide his fallen face behind the hard cock in front of him, Pavel sighs, “You will hawe me the entire time, sir, anytime you like.”

That’s when the console in the far corner flickers on, beeping the signal of a hail.


	6. Aboard

Spock requested, in a surprisingly level tone, an extra half an hour to “gather their data and supplies” for beam out. The Enterprise will grapple the shuttle after. Further exploration of the planet will be decided after everyone is safely back aboard and the existing data has been examined. 

In the meantime, Pavel’s bobbing vigorously up and down Spock’s engorged cock, because meeting the captain like this would be terribly inappropriate. Pavel’s jaw aches, but he’s used to it, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the weight of _Spock_ on his tongue. The taste is intoxicating, and he sucks as hard as he can to get as much of it as possible. 

Spock moans appreciatively while it happens, fingers running through Pavel’s hair. Pavel’s desperately trying to memorize every little sound, because he’s almost positive that once _pon farr_ is truly over, he won’t be hearing it again. 

He’s looking forward to a bed and a shower, sonic or otherwise. He’s looking forward to proper meals and the doctor’s tender care. 

But _fuck_ he’s going to miss _Spock_ owning him and claiming him and fucking him over and over...

He can tell when Spock’s getting close. Probably because of the bond. He sucks extra hard, taking Spock as far down his throat as he can manage. His tight throat convulses in protest, but Pavel stays where he is, forcing himself to take it. Pleasing Spock is the only option. His eyes flicker up to Spock’s, but Spock’s head is against the floor, chin tilted up and blocking the view. 

Pavel sucks with all his might, and a rush of cum explodes inside him, racing down his throat and making him choke. He’s still careful with his teeth the whole time, and he keeps himself firmly impaled on cock. They’ve got enough cum to deal with around the shuttle. He should swallow everything he can. He gulps it all down. 

Then he pulls slowly off and wipes his chin on the back of his hand. Spock’s breathing heavily and still just lies there.

He takes a minute. Then he lifts up on his elbows. Eyes raking over Pavel’s body. Pavel bites his lip under the scrutiny. 

“Thank you, Ensign.”

Pavel grins weakly. “You’re welcome, Commander.”

* * *

Dressing is an awkward affair. They wipe as much off in the back sink as possible, but the stench of sex is still everywhere. Their clothes are crisp in some places. Spock reminds him that they’ve been gone a week; it’s expected they’ll be stale and musky. Pavel doesn’t feel any better. 

He helps tug and smooth Spock’s uniform into place, because Spock seems incapable of hitting all the details. He still looks a little... off.

Pavel lifts up on his toes and finger-combs Spock’s hair down as best he can. Spock’s face is neutral the whole time. When Pavel’s done, Spock grabs a fistful of curls and yanks him in for a kiss. 

Pavel pushes away too soon. They shouldn’t be hard when the captain comes.

* * *

The captain’s the only one in the transporter room, as per Spock’s request. Pavel walks shamefully over to the console, painfully aware of how much he’s limping. 

Spock stops him before he gets very far.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” Captain Kirk asks. There’s a look on his face that says he has some idea of what they’ve been doing, but he’s being a good friend and holding it back. 

Spock nods. “I will explain everything to you, provided you follow my requests. You must understand that this is a Vulcan tradition that is strictly forbidden from being shared with off-worlders.”

“I’m not an off-worlder. I’m your friend.” 

Spock gets that expression on his face that says if it weren’t for his Vulcan blood, he’d be rolling his eyes. “Nevertheless, it is imperative that you tell no one else. If our commission remains together for several years, it is likely you will need this knowledge in the future. In the meantime, I request that Ensign Chekov is personally escorted to sickbay by yourself and that the deck be cleared and him given privacy.”

“So I can tell Bones?”

“Only what is necessary for him to be able to look after Ensign Chekov effectively.”

Frowning, Captain Kirk looks at Pavel, and Pavel shifts awkwardly. He doesn’t particularly like being talked about like he isn’t here and can’t speak for himself, but for once, he keeps quiet. This is... a Vulcan thing. And he doesn’t know what to say.

After a minute, Kirk nods. “I’ll escort you both back as soon as you tell me what happened down there and why you both smell like my Academy dorm room.”

* * *

Pavel hid his face in his hands most of the way to sickbay. A part of him is proud he hooked Spock, but not like this, and not so... walking is difficult. He feels like everyone knows. He’s in a private room now, thankfully, and while Dr. McCoy switches back and forth between treating him and Spock—kept in a separate room at Dr. McCoy’s request—Captain Kirk gets his side of the story. 

Pavel doesn’t have much different to say. Except he makes sure that the captain understands, “He didn’t force me. Well, maybe in a sense, but I would hawe wanted it anyway. I mean, it is Meester Spock—who wouldn’t? Oh, I don’t mean it like that. But you know. Ah, not zhat you are...” Several times Pavel has to stop talking because he’s walked himself into a corner. He’s lifted up on pillows, sitting in bed with a white blanket over him, changed into a medical gown. Apparently, he isn’t leaving sickbay any time soon. “Zhe point is, please don’t be mad at zhe Commander. He wanted to protect me, but I would not let him leave the shuttle, despite his orders. And I was... I was not unwillingly for any of it.”

“Chekov,” Captain Kirk says quietly, a kindness all over his face. “You can barely walk.”

Pavel’s cheeks are red, and he shrugs. “I... it’s not his fault. If I could redo it, I wouldn’t do it any ozher way.” There’s a short pause, and then he adds, “Well, no, I wouldn’t leawe zhe shuttle in the first place knowing about the chemical gas, and in zhe shuttle I would hawe discussed zhis wizh Commander Spock beforehand—”

Captain Kirk cuts him off with a chuckle. “I wasn’t going to blame Spock. To be honest, if it was that or have him die, well... I’m glad he’s alright. I know he probably would’ve chosen otherwise just to save his pride, but I don’t care about that. I want him alive, and because of you, he is.”

Pavel’s stomach glows: the thrill of being praised by his captain. He didn’t really do anything praise worthy, but he’ll take it. “Zhank you, Captain. I would not hawe wanted anyzhing bad to happen to him, eizher.”

“Damn these stupid Vulcans for not telling us these things, right?” Captain Kirk snorts. Pavel nods, even though he’s sure Spock couldn’t have known the exact timing, or he wouldn’t have chosen an away mission in the first place. Captain Kirk uncrosses his arms and pats Pavel’s shoulder lightly, adding, “Well, I wish you two had happened under better circumstances, but if you’re really all right, I’m not going to judge. ...And I guess he is marginally charming in a weird, unfortunate kind of way.”

Pavel grins wide and has to bite his lip to not laugh. Spock is definitely... an acquired taste. 

It’s a taste Pavel’s grown used to. The door opens in the small room, and Dr. McCoy comes in, drawing Captain Kirk off to the corner. “He’ll be alright, Bones?”

“Yes, I’m releasing him, but I don’t want him on the bridge for another three days at the very least.”

“Aw, what? I’ve been without a first officer for a week already—”

“Jim, the man just had a complete breakdown and nearly died. Not to mention his off-the-charts vitals. He is _not_ fit for duty. Doctor’s orders.”

Captain Kirk nods begrudgingly, then gestures over at Pavel. “Can I have my navigator back, at least?”

“I’m keeping him overnight; it’s going to take me forever to clear up all the bruises that bloody hobgoblin caused. I’d say another three days for him after that.”

“Bones, you’re killing me.”

“And Spock’s almost killing himself and dragging ensigns down with him!” Dr. McCoy grumbles loudly under his breath and storms over to Pavel’s bed, muttering, “Goddamn ship’s going straight to hell...”

Over Dr. McCoy’s shoulder, Captain Kirk shrugs apologetically at Pavel. “See you in a few days then, Chekov.”

Pavel nods and calls, “Zhank you, Captain,” as Captain Kirk leaves the little room, the door sliding shut behind him.

* * *

Pavel can feel Spock behind the door. It’s a strange sensation, inexplicably _knowing_ where someone else is, but he does. He’s sure Spock can feel him too. He wonders if Spock’s okay, but the bond is just a hazy sort of grey that he can’t decipher. 

When Dr. McCoy returns to run the dermal regenerator over his outstretched arm, Pavel asks hopefully, “Is zhere... is zhere any way I could see Commander Spock...?”

“After what he did to you?” Dr. McCoy scowls. “Don’t be ridiculous; I’m not letting that monster anywhere near my patient.”

Pavel frowns. Spock’s a patient too. And, “Meester Spock is not a monster, I—”

“Chekov, you’re lucky your pelvic bone isn’t broken.” When Dr. McCoy looks at Pavel’s face, his eyes seem to soften. Just a fraction. Pavel can see the _doctor_ in him and knows he’s just trying to help. “Look, the damage could’ve been a lot worse, all right? A few more days down there and you might even be in a coma. You’re dehydrated and malnourished and you’re going to be sore for a while, and you look like you’ve been attacked by claws and suction cups. Now I don’t know what’s going on behind this—if you’re just under Spock’s influence or if you’re actually just young and in love, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve got you bruised and the man who bruised you in another room, and I’m not putting the two of you together until you’re at least good as new.”

Pavel nods brokenly and mumbles, “I understand.” Even though he wishes he didn’t. 

As the doctor works his way up Pavel’s shoulder, Pavel explains about Spock, anyway, and why he’s really too great for Dr. McCoy to be fighting with. Dr. McCoy lets Pavel talk but doesn’t look convinced.

* * *

Dr. McCoy’s running a scan on Pavel’s upper chest when Spock walks through the door, and Pavel senses it coming before it happens. 

“How’d you get in?” Dr. McCoy barks. 

Spock’s in a crisp new uniform, looking perfect as usual. He arches an eyebrow and answers, “I am the first officer of this vessel; it is unreasonable to assume security would not let me through.”

“Damnit! You’re the very person not supposed to be coming in, get out of here—”

“What are you doing to him?” Spock’s eyes are suddenly sharp, boring holes into Dr. McCoy’s hand, resting at Pavel’s hip, scrunching the hospital gown out of the way to scan his stomach. The blanket covers Pavel’s crotch, but from the way Spock storms over to his bedside, that must be splitting hairs. The strain all over his voice, Spock says, “Take your hand off him.”

“What?” Dr. McCoy’s face scrunches up. “Don’t you tell me what to do; this is my patient and I’ll treat him however the hell I want.”

“And you want to do it with your grubby paws all over him,” Spock hisses, glaring daggers. 

For a second, Dr. McCoy looks shocked. Then he sneers, “So you’ve finally flipped your lid! Get out of here, you green blooded son of a bitch—you’ve done enough damage!”

“Damage to _my_ property,” Spock growls, leaning over the bed, eyes burning. “Which you have absolutely no right to touch—”

“Jim!” Dr. McCoy goes right for his communicator, practically screaming, “Jim, I want Spock out of my sickbay! Get him down to security until this damn thing is over!”

Spock’s breathing too hard. While Dr. McCoy and Captain Kirk hash it out, Pavel tentatively reaches for Spock’s sleeve, tugging it lightly. Spock’s head snaps down to him. Still burning. But Pavel feels bizarrely safe under that intensity, and he says soothingly, “It’s okay, Spock. He’s just trying to heal me. He was not doing anyzhing ozher zhan zhat. I promise.”

Something flickers across Spock’s eyes. He releases a steady breath, and he nods. Then he says very stiffly, “I... apologize for referring to you as a possession.”

Pavel smiles. “Zhat is okay. You’re still affected.” ...And even if he wasn’t, being thought of as _Spock’s_ is... well, Pavel’s not about to protest it...

His stomach is warm. He doesn’t want to get hard in front of Dr. McCoy. His eyes plead with his mate, and he nearly whimpers, “Please let him heal me? Zhe sooner I’m better zhe soon I can return to you. Ah, if you want me, zhat is... we will talk about zhis later, yes?”

Spock nods. “We will talk about everything.”

Pavel expects a kiss on the cheek, but he doesn’t get it. Spock is back to being _Spock_ , at least in that sense, and he folds his arms behind his back, walking stiffly out of the room. 

Dr. McCoy’s still shouting at Captain Kirk, who seems to find the whole thing very amusing.


	7. Resolve

For the rest of his time in sickbay, Pavel doesn’t see Spock. Dr. McCoy complained loudly about him visiting once while Pavel was asleep, but other than that, there’s an increasing anxiety in Pavel’s nerves from the lack of something he’d previously been inseparable from. 

Which is silly, he knows. He’s lived all his life without Spock just fine. It doesn’t make sense that his quarters should now feel so empty, too big and too cold. 

He isn’t allowed back on the bridge for another two days. Doctor’s orders. He’s supposed to be resting. ...And, Pavel thinks, he’s supposed to be working this out mentally, as he overheard Dr. McCoy telling Captain Kirk how traumatized he must be. He doesn’t feel traumatized. Upset, yes. But that could resolve itself if he could have a moment with Spock...

The bridge wouldn’t be a good idea right now anyway. Pavel’s eager to get back to work, but he doesn’t want Spock’s eyes on the back of his head when they haven’t worked this out. He’s jumpy enough on the job. Sulu came to visit him a few times, and Pavel hated having to lie. If he were on the bridge with Spock... he’s not a good actor. Everyone would know. 

He might not see Spock alone again. He’s acutely aware of that. This might be it. _Pon farr_ is probably over, and with it, any romantic inclinations Spock might possess. If anything, Spock’s probably drenched in shame and might think of Pavel as a reminder of that. The more Pavel thinks about it, the more he feels like he took advantage. 

Spock’s all he can think about. Spock, Spock, Spock. He takes a sonic shower and thinks about Spock the whole time, and he shamefully jerks off and has to shower longer to cover it. He thinks of Spock pinning him to the wall when he comes; it sucks that it’s just a fantasy. 

Eventually he finds himself curled in bed, because he’s too lovesick and nauseous to do anything else.

* * *

He isn’t particularly surprised that he dreams of Spock. They’re on Vulcan in the dream, he thinks, even though Pavel’s never been to Vulcan. And now it’s too late. When he wakes up, he doesn’t remember quite what happened in it, but it was nicer, and he wants to go back to sleep. 

He’s about to when his door buzzes. 

Wiping groggily at his eyes, Pavel passes the flashing clock—mid-evening, not time to sleep, anyway—and heads for the door. He fell asleep in his uniform. He should really change. Sometimes he wears it on his days off because he likes knowing he’s part of a starship. Maybe that’s childish. He gets to the door and opens it without asking—the only person that ever comes to his quarters is Sulu, and perhaps Pavel could use a friend right now. 

It’s not Sulu. 

It’s Spock. He asks very stiffly, “May I come in?”

Pavel steps aside, mouth open. Spock walks through, and the doors slide shut behind him. 

The bedroom is the biggest part of Pavel’s quarters. He wanders back to it, turning to plop down on the edge of the bed, noting with flushed cheeks that it’s not made. Spock awkwardly follows to stand in front of him, then hesitates, and tensely sits down beside Pavel. 

“I believe I owe you an apology, Ensign.”

“Pavel,” Pavel says hopefully. Then, turning red, he hurriedly adds, “Pavel Andreievich Chekov.” And then he feels even more like an idiot, but Spock kindly says nothing of it. 

“I apologize, Pavel.”

“You don’t need to,” Pavel interrupts. “I... you didn’t force me.”

“I absolutely did,” Spock corrects. “It could not have been any other way. We were not in a relationship, and I mind melded with you without permission—a grave crime in and of itself. That I took you with the full force of a Vulcan _pon farr_ under such dismal circumstances is unconscionable. It is unlikely I will ever be able to make this up to you, but I sincerely apologize.”

Trying too much to not look like either a victim or desperate, Pavel insists, “It’s alright. I don’t want you to feel badly. It was I who would not allow you to leawe zhe shuttle, and I was aware of zhe consequences of my actions. But I...” Pavel gulps, not sure he should say this. He blurts anyway, “I hawe no regrets. Ah, ozher zhan you hawing to take me, of course. I am aware you were not yourself and in a way I was taking adwantage, but I hope you’ll forgiwe me...”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “You have nothing to apologize for, En— Pavel. Your actions were admirable.” Spock pauses, looking away. Pavel stares breathlessly at his profile, strong and chiseled, calm again. His hair is all back in place, his presence as logical as it always was. “I must also offer you thanks for taking care of me in my time of need. You were most... kind.”

Horny. He was horny. And a little kind, a little loving. But mostly there wasn’t any other option, and Pavel just mumbles, “You’re welcome... Spock.” Spock glances sideways but doesn’t correct him. 

There’s a minute of silence. When Pavel concentrates, he thinks he can feel Spock’s mood between them: uneasy and difficult. He doesn’t know what he’s projecting himself. But when he looks at Spock, up close and in private likes this, with all their amenities and all their control, there’s a _want_ in Pavel that he can’t explain. 

“As I explained before, Vulcan mating is meant to be for life. We can fight it, and it will eventually dissipate, but for now, you will have lingering feelings that are not your own.”

“Not my own?” Pavel blinks. “I can feel zhe bond, but it is not influencing how I feel—” 

“You are confused,” Spock cuts him off. “I can feel the happiness in you when I am near you, but that is to be expected after the bonding. You are also upset, which I understand.”

“What?” Pavel’s head is swimming. “No, I’m not upset wizh you. Or at you. I just... I feel bad zhat you were in zhat position and were forced to take me, but Commander, I hawe always looked up to you and enjoyed your company.” Pavel’s embarrassed as hell, but the floodgates are opened, and he keeps prattling on, “You are zhe only one who can do calculations wizhout a computer like me, and you do not treat me like a child for zhe most part, and you are always wery fair wizh me on meessions, and of course you are an excellent first officer and science officer and a wery good kisser who’s wery attractive...” Pavel forces himself to clamp his mouth shut, but not before Spock’s started staring at him intently. 

Slowly, Spock asks, “You... do not find this an untenable situation, then?” Still keeping his mouth firmly closed, Pavel shakes his head. Looking a little surprised and then quickly hiding it behind his usual mask, Spock continues, “You would find our continued coupling to be acceptable?”

Nodding quickly, Pavel says, “If you want.”

Spock’s nod is mostly to himself. His gaze slips slowly back across the room, and he announces, “That would be the most logical course. I believe the _pon farr_ was simply triggered by microbes on the planet, and if that has not interfered with my regular cycle, I will be due for another round sometime during our subspace missions. Having a mate on hand would be very efficient.” Perhaps at the obvious spike of sadness in Pavel’s body, Spock adds, looking back at him, “That is not to say, however, that you are merely a tool to regulate my body chemistry. So long as you are willingly, I would find you to be an excellent partner.”

“Really?” Pavel asks hollowly, half unable to believe his luck. 

“Really. Your Starfleet record is definitely notable, your performance on the bridge has been commendable, you have already proven yourself loyal to me and helpful in a trying situation, and you are, as Captain Kirk would so crudely put it, quite easy on the eyes.” 

Pavel bites his lip to stifle a chuckle, but he’ll take it. He supposes that’s Spock’s way of calling him cute. It makes him inordinately happy to hear. 

“There will be difficulties,” Spock goes on. “Now that I am back to my senses, you may find our dynamics quite different. If you should change your mind at any point, you need only tell me. On top of that, dating on a starship is an awkward affair, as I can vouch for based on personal experience. It will not be easy, and we will be obligated to disclose our relationship to the captain.”

Pavel nods. He’d love to tell Captain Kirk—or anyone who’ll listen—that Spock’s _his._ And he won’t mess that up like Uhura did. And he’s unlikely to change his mind. Ravenous Spock was delicious, but intelligent Spock is endearing. Pavel will take any kind of Spock he can get. Bond or otherwise. 

He opens his mouth to say as much. 

But Spock’s mouth is directly over his, and that negates anything Pavel could possibly have to say.

* * *

Most of the data from the ship wasn’t salvageable, but Scotty’s extracting what he can. Pavel offered to help, naturally, but the good doctor won’t let him. Sulu brought him lunch yesterday and filled him in on what’s happening on the bridge—apparently nothing much, other than Lieutenant Uhura being worried about Spock and Captain Kirk being restless without a first officer. Spock’s mostly been in his quarters, but he stops by occasionally. He’s assured Pavel that Lieutenant Uhura won’t be a problem, but Pavel will have to live it to believe it. 

He didn’t tell Sulu what happened on the planet. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust his friend, but he just doesn’t know if he should be telling anyone yet. And now he’s alone with Spock again, and he could ask, but he doesn’t. 

They’ll be back on the bridge tomorrow. It’s their last day—their last night. They’re supposed to be sleeping. 

Instead, Spock’s flicking through a PADD, editing his official report. Pavel can only imagine the difficulty he’s having; Spock always wants to tell the truth, but the truth of the incident is... embarrassing, at best. 

Pavel’s offered to look over it, of course, but it’s three revisions later and he’s _tired_ , having snuck schematic transmissions from Scotty all day. He’s trying to learn more about Engineering, since apparently, he’s next in line. Scotty, for the most part, seems happy to teach. 

Spock frowned when the comm came through, but Spock’s always frowning. Showing him the data seemed to ease him; Engineering computations are hardly an intimate transaction. 

Now Pavel’s trying to sleep with the lights turned off, except that the light of Spock’s PADD is illuminating his handsome face. He’s sitting up in bed, back in the pillows, wearing the pants to Pavel’s top—a matching pajama set that happened to be too big for him and a good size for Spock. Spock wasn’t originally aware he was being wrangled into sleeping together, so he didn’t come prepared, and Pavel particularly likes this arrangement. This way he can see all of of Spock’s chest, and he curls up next to Spock’s lap, tentatively throwing an arm over it. 

Spock stiffens slightly but doesn’t say anything. To make sure, Pavel asks, “You will tell me if I do anyzhing to make you uncomfortable, won’t you?”

Spock looks down at him skeptically, as though the thought of an ensign making him uncomfortable is absurd. Pavel blushes but holds his ground—Spock knows what he means. After a minute, Spock says slowly, “Your affections are... acceptable. Provided they are only conducted in private.”

“Naturally,” Pavel agrees. He’s eager, but he’s not stupid. He wouldn’t embarrass Spock in public. He runs his hand lightly down Spock’s far thigh, reveling in the permission to touch. Under the blankets, he squirms his way closer, front pressed into Spock’s legs.

“If I am keeping you awake, I can always return to my quarters.”

“No,” Pavel says too quickly, squeezing Spock tightly around the middle. “Ah... please don’t go. I mean, ah, you can if you don’t want to be here, but I would miss you anyway... and I _like_ sleeping wizh you.” And he doesn’t know if that was only an option during _pon farr_ or not, but he hopes not. 

Either Spock’s probing his mind through the bond, or it’s written all over Pavel’s face. Spock says, “Curious. The human need for intimacy. ...You realize I will not be the same as when I was... afflicted?”

“I know. I don’t need it to be like zhat. I just... human intimacy, I suppose. I just like being wizh you. And I appreciate you being wizh me.”

Nodding curtly, Spock says, “It is not difficult,” and turns back to his PADD. Pavel takes that as a compliment. By Spock standards, it sounds like high praise. 

Pavel snuggles back in and closes his eyes against the mechanical glow, willing himself to sleep. He’s aware it’ll be difficult for Spock to shift around within Pavel’s embrace, but Pavel doesn’t want to let go. In the absence of sex and arousal, Spock smells very clean and slightly spicy. Intoxicating. Pavel lets his mind drift over everything, into the general darkness. 

He’s not quite fully asleep when Spock finishes work. Without opening his eyes, Pavel can hear the PADD being shut off and placed on the nightstand. Then Spock twists in Pavel’s arms and shuffles down the bed, lifting up the blankets. Pavel only opens his eyes a crack when he feels Spock beside him, awash in the veritable darkness. Two of Spock’s fingers reach out to stroke Pavel’s face, and Pavel leans into them happily.

He’s glowing all over.

* * *

Duty isn’t for another two hours. Pavel stretches his arms anyway, skimming the clock, budgeting time in his head for a sonic shower and food. The lights are still off, but there’s the faint light of his monitor in the far corner and the clock blinking at him. It’s just enough to see the silhouette of Spock, lying peacefully on his back. 

Pavel freezes abruptly, because this is the first time he’s been awake before Spock, and he’s not entirely sure what to do about it. He should probably just go back to sleep. Should he wake Spock up? Is it proper for ensigns to wake commanders? But then, it’s probably alright for men to wake their boyfriends. 

Which is what they are now, Pavel’s fairly sure of it. 

The thought makes him incurably giddy. Before he can stop himself, he’s shifting over Spock’s stomach, leaning down to peck Spock softly on the lips. Spock doesn’t react, and Pavel smiles broadly, nuzzling suddenly into his neck. Then kissing it. Pavel gets the wicked idea for payback—mark Spock up like Spock marked him. Although, they have to return to duty today; that would be cruel. 

But they’ll be wearing uniforms. Feeling too restless not to, Pavel gently tugs the blankets down Spock’s chest, eyeing it hungrily and tracing Spock’s shoulder. Then he leans forward and chastely kisses Spock’s shoulder, carefully far along enough that it’ll be hidden by the uniform. When he’s done kissing and licking, he parts his lips and _sucks_ , hips rolling faintly into Spock’s in the process. Because he can’t help it. 

He has to will himself to stop, though. They’ve got duty. He has to settle down. Does Spock even like morning sex? Pavel likes all sex when Spock’s in it. But he’s not an asshole, and he stops sucking when the hickey’s become too apparent, then starts licking it over guiltily. Beneath him, Spock finally stirs, inhaling deeply. 

It’s too late for Pavel to roll off and feign innocence, so instead he just looks down at Spock, smiling hopefully. 

Raising a sleepy eyebrow, Spock lifts up on his elbows, forcing Pavel to slip off. Spock cranes his neck, trying to see the damage and asking, “What were you doing?”

“Marking you,” Pavel mumbles sheepishly. 

Both of Spock’s eyebrows rise, then lower again, and he falls back into the pillows. “A fair retribution,” he decides. Pavel grins at him. 

Pavel gives in to the urge to shift closer, pressing his lips down into his boyfriend. Spock has morning breath, but Pavel doesn’t particularly mind, and he finds that fact amusing. The idea of Spock being anything less than pristine is a strange one, even after everything. 

Spock returns the kiss, first softly, then with tongue, and then his fingers are in Pavel’s hair and he’s tugging Pavel down. Before Pavel barely has time to gasp, Spock’s rolling them over, landing on top of Pavel and crushing him down into the mattress. One of Spock’s legs slips between Pavel’s and _rubs_ against him, making him arch and _moan_. Spock parts their lips to trail searing kisses down Pavel’s neck, and he whispers into Pavel’s ear, “I can feel your pleasure.”

Then Spock also knows that Pavel’s thinking yesyes _yes_ , and he appreciates the lack of breathing room for misunderstandings. Spock doesn’t have to ask before he acts. His hands are running down Pavel’s body, and he purrs, “There is no time for what I would like to do to you. Perhaps tomorrow, after our duties. For now, I would like to repay your kindness in the shuttle.”

“I didn’t do anyzhing,” Pavel murmurs happily, eyelids fluttering closed from the ecstasy of Spock’s teeth scraping his neck. 

Spock doesn’t listen. He rolls up Pavel’s pajama shirt and bends to kiss his chest, then a bit lower, to his stomach, down to his navel. Spock’s head disappears under the blankets, and Pavel _gasps_.

He’s looking forward to the future. He melts when Spock mutters before kissing the right place, “Fascinating.”

And things couldn’t be better.


End file.
